


Nine Lives

by tjstar



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Delirium, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Ghosts, Good Sibling Ben Hargreeves, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Isolation, Klaus Hargreeves Can Levitate, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, No Incest, Past Drug Addiction, Self-Destructive Behavior, Sibling Bonding, Surreal, Telekinesis, Time Travel, tua s2 theory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: Klaus is addicted to his new powers.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 22
Kudos: 214





	Nine Lives

Something’s wrong. 

“Klaus! Wake up!”

He’s not even sure if he’s still existing, so he ignores a well-familiar voice he’s been bound to hear for more than a decade. 

“Klaus, come on, man!”

“Shut it, Ben,” Klaus groans out, rubbing his face with both hands and blinking his eyes open. 

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You’re lazy,” Ben huffs out.

Klaus looks at him and says,

“You’re dead. _Still_ dead, I mean. I’m sorry?”

Should he even be the one to apologize? He doesn’t know. He only thing he’s aware of is that his body feels like one giant bruise with the sharp-edged pieces of his bones ripping his skin. Something is definitely wrong; Ben’s voice seems distant, and his face keeps zooming in and zooming out as he hunches his back and stares at Klaus.

“Five’s jump didn’t work the way it should, I guess.”

“What a genius,” Klaus grumbles, trying to sit up carefully, not to break the bones that haven’t been broken yet. “When are we?”

“Who knows,” Ben shrugs. “You’re not a kid, that’s all I can say.”

“Where are the others?”

“I feel like it’s me who should be asking _you_ this question.”

Klaus grips against the air where Ben should be standing; he can’t get a hold against his arms, and his brain is far too stressed to function. It takes him a while to stand up straight and take a wobbly step down the godforsaken road where he’s woken up. It’s a daytime, the sun is shining, hitting the top of his head with its rays; the gravel under his bowling shoes is dusty and crunchy, and,

There are not any ghosts. Except for Ben, his usual companion, in sickness and health, and all that jazz — Ben keeps talking, _we should find the others, Klaus, we should find the others._ Klaus nods, and nods, and nods, not registering a half of his words. He walks in a random direction, looking for a road sign or for something else, for someone else. Looking for help.

“We’re gonna meet the locals eventually, am I right, Benji?”

“What are you gonna say, though?” 

“Never time travel with a bunch of incompetent superheroes.”

Klaus laughs at his own joke — that’s all he can do now, he doesn’t want Ben to slip into some sort of a ghostly depression. Klaus doesn’t even have enough energy to manifest him, he’s too focused on keeping himself awake and ignoring a nasty wave of nausea creeping up his throat. He can’t slow down, he’s thirsty and exhausted, getting sunburns all over his shoulders and his neck — his army vest is not helping him at all, the laces in his pants keep untying themselves with every step, and these bowling shoes feel like fetters. His head is empty, almost full of bliss of silence; he’s not listening to a non-stop radio of spirits, he’s not seeing them although he’s _disgustingly_ sober. He’s sweating, wiping his forehead with his shaky hand.

“Where are we going?”

Klaus sighs,

“To find our siblings?”

Ben nods. They walk some more. And some more, and some more, until Klaus’ feet begin to bleed inside of his shoes; pain keeps him awake as they make it to the first road sign on their way —

_WELCOME TO DALLAS_

Klaus stops and scratches his neck. They haven’t seen any cars on their way there; it can be an unlucky coincidence, and Klaus tries to think rationally. 

“Dallas then,” Ben says. “We’re in Texas, bro, any idea how we can get out of his situation?”

“I vote for getting drunk.”

“Don’t even think about it, Klaus, don’t!..” Ben stops right in front of Klaus. Klaus walks through him to piss him off. “We’ve got some things to do!”

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Klaus closes his eyes, outstretching his hands in front of himself like a sleepwalker. “I wish I had something.”

He used to do it for ghosts, but now he just feels like shit. 

“Klaus, listen to me…”

“Can you stop screaming into my ear?”

“Klaus!”

Oh, he’s getting closer. What a quick phantom. 

“Klaus!”

“What?”

“Can you hear it?” Ben presses his forefinger to his lips.

“Hear _what?”_

“Nothing,” Ben keeps his voice low. “As if it’s just a _ghost_ town.”

Klaus shivers. Listens to the sounds surrounding him — it’s mostly his own heartbeat and the blood boiling in his head. No roaring engines, no footsteps, no music in the air — nothing, indeed. Silence, silence, even the birds are hiding; not existing; flying somewhere but not in this sky. 

“Holy shit,” Klaus says. “Holy shit,” he repeats, pulling at his hair. It’s quiet, hasn’t it been his main desire since he turned three? _Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me —_

He whips around and runs down the sidewalk, kicking open the doors of the cafes, stores and barbershops, just to be met by empty rooms and abandoned interiors. They still look pretty — American dream at its best — but there’s not a single soul except him and Ben. They read the ads and billboards, newspapers and posters — they landed in 1962, but, 

The whole population of Dallas has just _disappeared._

***

Klaus thinks it’s just a bad dream.

Klaus thinks it’s just a bad trip —

 _Klaus thinks._

He spends the night in one of the stores he barges in — he finds food and water; all fresh and untouched, just like in those Bermuda Triangle documentaries. As if people just dropped everything and left the city in a rush. Cashiers and gardeners, hairdressers and drivers, families and their pets — all of them are gone.

“What’s happening?” Klaus keeps asking, panicking, he’s never been _this_ lonely before. “Ben? What the Hell did we do now?”

“It’s not us. Five must’ve miscalculated again,” Ben replies. He tries to stay calm, but his strained posture tells otherwise. 

“Must’ve?” Klaus giggles like a lunatic. “He made the citizens disappear! Or… Or…” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t see them because I’m dead? Right,” he gets up on his feet, kicking off these damn shoes. “I’m dead, it’s all settled then,” he clutches the dog tags in his palm. “Dave? Dave, where are you, honey? I’ve just solved the code!”

He runs around the store, ducking into the aisles; he’s just bustling around like a trapped hamster until he slips on the tiles and lands on his ass. It hurts, in addition to his previous injuries. 

“You’re not dead,” Ben winces sympathetically. “Maybe it’s your time to crack the equation Five chipped his teeth on.”

Klaus rubs the small of his back.

“I’m not good at math.”

He leans against the counter and pulls his knees to his chest. Usually, he would get distracted by the ghosts wailing around him, but now there’s only Ben, so Klaus can’t blame anyone. His brain is aching, and so does his stomach, filled with nothing but water, his appetite is long gone. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, heart hammering to the point of bursting, and he clamps his palms over his ears out of habit — but there’s no voices except his own, that inner one. 

“What’s the plan?”

“Firstly, calm down,” Ben says, sitting down on the floor next to him. “We’ll find them. We’ll figure it out. But seriously, calm down.”

Klaus closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale of air that smells slightly of chlorine. He can clearly imagine a worker mopping the floors just a few hours ago. Focusing on his breathing is much easier when he can’t see the corpses. Being sober still sucks. Withdrawal sucks too. Ben keeps talking to him, voice soothing and hypnotizing, and Klaus listens, chuckling softly when Ben drops a joke, or when he at least tries to.

He falls asleep curled into himself on the cold tiles in the frozen food aisle. 

*** 

A week passes and they’re still alone. Klaus doesn’t remember much of that week though — he spends it sweating and hugging the bucket in the corner where he made himself a nest with whatever blankets he could find. This is it, another round of his sobriety, and his main power is still mostly turned off — for the first time in thirty years — and he doesn’t know whether he should be complaining or not. 

“Feeling any better?” Ben asks on the ninth day of isolation. This is how they call the whole thing. 

Klaus gives him an uncertain nod. Spits out bile and winces as it hits the bottom of the bucket. He’s been dry-heaving since morning, so finally emptying his stomach is a relief. He can still afford alcohol, or pills, or whatever he needs to dull his emotions. But he can’t get up and walk without swaying, and Ben _can actually rub his back_ when he pukes again.

“It’s getting stronger,” Klaus slurs.

“What?”

“My power.”

He looks down at the faint blue glowing on his palms; the color fades slowly, but Ben stays.

“Still want to get drunk?”

Klaus shakes his head.

He can’t take that feeling away from Ben — he’s corporeal, he can touch things, move things. And Klaus has to stay sober in case any of his siblings show up. 

But they don’t.

Maybe they’re alive.

Maybe they’re just pissed at him.

***

“Klaus! Put. The bottle. Down!”

“Or what?”

“Don’t make me punch you again.”

It’s been three months, and Klaus breaks, of course, he breaks. He’s holding an unscrewed bottle of liquor in his hand, waving it in the air so Ben can’t catch it. And Ben is still in his corporeal mode — Klaus doesn’t know how to turn it off now — and really, fuck this. He can’t connect with Dave, or with his siblings, as if they have never existed. He used to drown his sorrows in alcohol, he used to numb his powers with drugs — and he’s got no one to stop him now except for his deceased brother. 

The only one who’s never leaving.

“You don’t get it, mon chéri, if we had a purpose, we would have already gotten a sign!”

“Klaus, you’re an idiot.”

“Of course I am! What are you expecting from me then? To create an necromantic miracle and bring you back to life? To sacrifice a virgin to save the world? Sorry, my dear, we’re a bit late,” he brings the bottleneck to his mouth.

He doesn’t have time to take a sip.

There’s an uncontrollable tornado around him, all the goods are flying off the shelves and swirling in the air. There’s a ripping sensation in his chest, his ribs are suddenly too tight, and he feels a strong flow of energy coursing through him. A fridge with drinks behind him falls, beers and wine form a puddle on the floor, creeping to his bare toes. 

“Did you do that?!” he and Ben ask each other in unison.

“You did it,” Ben states. 

Klaus freezes. The whirlwind of groceries stops, apples and packs of snacks flop on the tiles. 

“I think… We better reschedule my alcoholism.”

He jerks his hand to pour the liquor into the pool already growing in the corner of the aisle. 

He doesn’t see a frozen steak coming right to his face.

“Klaus! Careful!”

Ben’s belated warning is the last thing Klaus hears.

*** 

“At least you applied some ice on your busted nose. Less chance of bruising.”

Ben shrugs, too optimistic for the one who got ripped apart by his own inner monsters. 

“I hate you,” Klaus mutters. It hurts to breathe and talk at the same time; there’s so much blood, on his chest, on his vest, on the floor. On that damn frozen steak that knocked him out twenty minutes ago — Ben knows, Ben owns a wristwatch now. 

Klaus’ head hurts, he’s standing in the restroom trying to fix his appearance or not to choke on his own blood. 

“You were right saying you’re getting stronger.”

“What’s the point?” Klaus turns to him so quickly it makes him dizzy. “My powers are hurting me. That’s all.”

He looks at the blood running down the drain and wipes his face with a paper towel. Ben doesn’t leave him even now, when he’d most prefer a moment of privacy.

“What if this is a sign?”

“From whom? From God?”

“Well,” Ben shrugs. “Who knows. You’re given a power, you can as well work on it since we’re stuck here anyway.”

“Your therapy sucks,” Klaus rinses his mouth and spits. “I’m supposed to be the one who saves the world, and what do I get? I get punched in the face. Oh, and did I mention that your therapy sucks?”

Ben rolls his eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Klaus sniffles. 

“We should find a better place to practice then.”

*** 

He doesn’t want to get another nosebleed.

So he tries to do it slow — concentrate, try to stop the time and let his energy out — sometimes it’s painful, sometimes it’s not. He begins with aiming for small objects — matches, wipes, but he can’t just move one item without dropping the others. 

“You’re not bothered by the fact you’re living in the stores all that time,” Ben says one day.

Klaus nods,

“Yeah, I’m _living.”_

He hates this timeline, as if he’s spent his nine lives here already, and it’s a time loop that turns to a noose tied around his throat. He wanders the empty streets, he’s checked every inch of the neighborhood where he’s currently living. He finds nothing — absolutely nothing — just like Five once said. 

“My powers aren’t working,” Klaus moans out, sweat rolls down his back. “I can’t do anything.”

And Ben gives him the most useless advice,

“Try harder.”

He tries harder. 

*** 

It takes him one more week to realize that his powers have to do with his shoes.

*** 

He meditates, he finally changes his clothes — he finds a loose white jacket and pants that are so striped they make him look like a walking curtain. He eventually stops trimming his beard because what’s the point if he’s alone here anyway. He stops cutting and straightening his hair too for the same reason.

“I think we should leave Dallas,” Ben says one day. 

“You do?” Klaus opens one eye. Lotus pose has never been more comfortable. “We’re doing great in isolation,” he quips, trying to banish his destructive thoughts. He’s good at it now. At something, at least. 

“It’s been a year and a half, Klaus.”

They don’t own a calendar; Klaus doesn’t drink, but he’s smoked all the cigarettes he could find in the nearby stores. He wishes he could get into his system something more than just tobacco. Living in these decorations, he feels like the smallest cog in the machine of insanity. He talks to himself, talks to Ben, and,

“A year and a half.”

It hits him, hard. Harder than that creepy ex he used to live with. 

“Oh.”

He realizes, _they’re not coming,_ he hates being right. 

He doesn’t know what’s outside Dallas. He’s been zombified enough not to care, he didn’t want to mess up his location in case his siblings would decide to find him. _Dallas, 1963, just find me, find me there —_ no matter how many times he repeats it, his telepathic waves don’t reach his family. _A family._ What a weird concept.

“We’re leaving Dallas.”

Ben is determined. 

Klaus shrugs.

“Yeah, a little journey couldn’t hurt.”

*** 

“Well, at least we didn’t wrap the car around the tree.”

“Shut up, Klaus.”

Klaus laughs and slams the door behind him shut. It’s funny — and the metal of the copper-colored Dodge Polara _they have definitely not stolen_ is too hot. They just stand outside of their car, stuck in this lovely neighborhood with the thick curls of smoke erupting from underneath the hood. Klaus opens it, Klaus looks inside to find the problem, but he’s got no idea what to do with that. So he just kicks the tire with his white boot, and it hurts. He kicks the tire again. And again. And again.

“Klaus, stop it!”

Ben is holding the keys, Ben isn’t going to give them back to Klaus — he doesn’t need one more corpse, does he? Klaus lets out a frustrated sigh.

“We need a better plan.”

They haven’t had good plans for ages — even the retro car has decided to kill itself as soon as it joined their team. 

As if Dallas doesn’t want them to go.

If this city has a soul, it’s definitely been sold to the Devil.

*** 

Their next shelter is a small shack on the outskirts of Dallas. Mostly because Klaus doesn’t care about anything anymore.

“Five’s powers weren’t working in the Apocalypse,” Ben says one day. “Maybe this is what’s happening to you?”

Klaus shivers on the mattress on the floor.

“I don’t know.”

He’s been feeling under the weather since morning, skin burning and head exploding with pain — there’s something inside of him, churning, lurking, trying to break free. He’s not sure if he wants to let this thing free. He’s not sure if he wants Ben to know. 

“You look pale.”

He barely leaves his corner now, forgetting to eat until Ben reminds him to do so. It’s getting harder and harder to find any good canned food, or water, or desire to live. Klaus is just a pile of skin and bones, rubbing his bare stomach blankly, tracing his fingers down the outline of the tattoo — the only landmark. 

He wishes Dave was here. Even his ghostly form would help him make it through.

Ben keeps talking, and Klaus covers his ears with his hands.

*** 

He wakes up in the air. 

Before he can realize it, he falls down — he misses the mattress, of course, back thudding against the floor, his nape connecting with it too — it hurts. It hurts so badly it makes him feel _undead_ again. He can’t breathe without hurting his ribs, he coughs and rolls over onto his side.

Then he opens his eyes. 

And sees a bunch of hippies staring him down.

“Oh, Jesus,” Klaus gasps, words stuck in his throat. 

_“Jesus?_ Is that you?”

A girl with red beads in her curly hair crouches down in front of him.

“You can see us,” a guy in a flowery shirt says. 

“I… I think so?”

Klaus sits up and glances at Ben who looks shocked as well. 

Klaus is surrounded by a strange group, all in their early and late twenties from what he can say — and then he looks a little closer. One girl misses an eye, one guy has a wound in his stomach with his blood spilling out of the gash and onto his beige pants. Not good, not good. 

“You know you’re dead?”

That’s not the best phrase to begin with, but all of them nod. 

“H-how?”

“Police brutality. Mostly,” the girl shrugs. There’s a deep laceration at the base of her skull as she turns away from him. “We just wanted to avoid the war. All of us. Jesus…”

“I’m not,” Klaus shields himself with his hands. _HELLO, GOODBYE, would you please be so kind not to scare the shit out of me?_ “My name’s Klaus. Here’s Ben, my brother, and we’re…”

We’re stuck.

We’re probably stupid. 

“I’m Jackie,” she says. “It’s Lennon, Rory and Camilla. It’s nice to meet you there.”

“Where?” is all Klaus can ask.

“Here in Dallas,” Jackie winks at him. “We haven’t seen anyone for ages, and you… You were levitating? How did you do that?!”

“I don’t know,” Klaus swallows hard. “You are… The first ghosts I’ve met here.”

“I know it’s weird,” Lennon says — no, not _that_ Lennon, but his glasses are pretty similar to his. “But we’ll guide you until you find your way.”

“My way?”

He doesn’t want this shack to turn to a mausoleum as well — but these ghosts are coherent, they’re not just yelling into his ears. They’re trying to help.

So he’s not gonna run away from them. It’s not that he has a hiding place.

*** 

He can levitate only when — surprise-surprise — he’s barefoot. 

And he tries to improve his newfound skill, one step at a time, one foot above the ground at a time. It’s still risky — he used to it, he used to failing, used to falling. His back is all bruised from his failed attempts — he doesn’t know how to control it. He doesn’t mind. Ben watches him all the time, their new friends watch him from time to time — they comment on his funny poses in the air, but they don’t laugh when he crashes down again, nearly breaking his arm. 

He’s training himself every day. 

Ben says he doesn’t have to push himself _this_ hard, that he’s scared — come on, who isn’t?! And Klaus is stubborn, trying to hold his powers on a leash, he lifts himself in the air again and again. He feels so powerful. He feels almost orgasmic, which is pretty great too. He hasn’t been with anyone since Dave died; he hasn’t planned, he’s got no plans except for showing himself that he’s more than just a number, more than just an ex-junkie, he’s recovered, right? And the way his abilities make him feel is just a twisted satisfaction he gets from every time he can’t control his flight. His shoulder hits the wall with a crack. And he falls. Again.

“I feel so high,” he giggles.

“Enough for today,” Ben says. “Klaus!” he snaps his fingers in front of Klaus’ nose.

Klaus pushes Ben’s arm away — he can do that now — and clenches his fists, summoning his energy again. The moment when his body leaves the ground he feels as if his soul leaves his body — floating, traveling, all thoughts gone. Why couldn’t he do that before? 

Why?

*** 

“You’re gonna fall and snap your neck one day.”

“Aw, Benny, is it something I haven’t done before?”

*** 

He’s steady in the air, he can hold his body, he levitates. Rory still calls him Jesus, and Klaus laughs — Camilla would’ve laughed too if her tongue hadn’t been bitten off. He feels light, he hasn’t eaten in — three? Four? — days, but that’s alright. He’s done that before, he adapted to starvation. He’s been practicing for months, long, long months, and he needs more, he wants more, he can do more —

He’s sure Ben poisons him with his bad vibes the day when he wants to try and jump off the building — fifth floor, it’s not even that high! He just wants to feel weightless once again. But he can’t, he’s tired, and dizzy, and nauseous, sweating through the mattress and shaking, shaking, shaking;

“You’re sick,” Ben says. “I’m gonna go and find some meds for you.”

Klaus says,

“Please, don’t...”

 _Don’t leave me,_ but he can’t finish as bile floods his throat, spills out of the corner of his mouth; he blankly hangs his head off his makeshift bed, spitting it all out and coughing until he can’t breathe. 

When he opens his teary eyes, Ben’s not here.

***

“Oh, this idiot is still alive.”

“I don’t think he can hear us. Klaus? Hey, bro, look at me.”

“I’m gonna pick him up.”

There are hands on his shoulders, then under his knees; his head lolls to someone’s chest and he wakes up, coughing slightly and peeling his eyes open. 

“L-luther? Diego? Five?”

“He remembers us, great,” Five rolls his eyes, irritated. “Why _the fuck_ do you look like a hippie Jesus, Klaus?”

Klaus scratches his beard.

“I accidentally joined a cult,” he winks at Jackie standing in the corner of his shack. 

Five’s got blood on his face and on the collar of his uniform, same one from the Academy. More blood on his palms. Nothing unusual. Diego’s hair is much longer since the last time Klaus has seen him, in one of his past lives. His orange shirt looks almost ridiculous. Luther hasn’t changed much — big and strong, he looks more confident now. 

“Your lucky ass should thank Ben. He appeared in our timeline and told us _when_ you are.”

Klaus feels safe in Luther’s arms; Ben is here by his side too, Klaus can’t tell if his siblings can see him _now._

“How did you manage to project Ben into my timeline?” Five asks. There’s a briefcase in his hand. Klaus knows what that means.

“Ben is an independent ghost now, he can project himself wherever he wants,” Klaus mumbles. “Or whenever.”

“We have to find Allison and Vanya now,” Luther says. 

“So this is our new mission?”

“Yeah,” Diego nods. “Five’s power has left us scattered all over the timelines in the 60th. And yours… It seems that it didn’t have enough time to complete the download? So some of the textures were just… Missing. We should stick together if we want to stop a new Apocalypse that’s rolling in.”

Textures. People are _textures_ now, and so are ghosts. Five is a king of paradoxes.

Klaus exhales,

“A new one?”

Five frowns.

“Indeed. Less words, more action.”

And then he opens the briefcase. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> comments are very appreciated <3


End file.
